


Bend the Definition of Faith

by KersPastei



Category: Hyper Light Drifter
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Medium Burn, Other, also fair warning this is self-indulgent as all hell, as in it's not going to be long enough for slow burn but i don't want to rush it, for now, it's hld so there will be blood but it's not graphic, me: oh i'll just type up a quick drabble about drifter culture headcanons, my brain: whatever the hell this is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22233196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KersPastei/pseuds/KersPastei
Summary: In between racing to unlock modules and find the cure for their mysterious sickness, the Drifter and the Guardian learn about each other in a dozen small moments and unexpected encounters. But with a deadly time limit hanging over their heads, drawing close might not be the best idea.
Relationships: The Drifter/The Guardian (Hyper Light Drifter)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

Drifter is pretty sure they’re dead. 

The last thing they remember is - well, to be honest, the last thing they remember is a confusing mess, all black tar and pink blood and choking panic. Pain and a lack of oxygen from coughing too hard to breathe combined with those awful hallucinations had the same effect on their memory as water on a pencil drawing, causing everything to run and blend together until the original image is almost impossible to make out. 

But as confusing as those memories are, Drifter is certain that their last moments of consciousness hadn’t featured anything nearly as soft as whatever they’re laying on now. There’s a weight on top of them as well, something warm and soft - a blanket? They definitely hadn’t been under a blanket when they passed out. No, they’re pretty sure there had been another coughing fit, and something … attacking them? Was that real, or part of the hallucination? It’s hard to tell; that part of their memory remains frustratingly vague.

Still, even as confused as they are, they can easily say that this is the most comfortable they’ve been in a long time. Their train of thought momentarily stalls as they try to figure out exactly _how_ long, but the time frames involved quickly become depressing to think about, and they give up. It doesn’t matter, really; they’re more interested in figuring out how they ended up here. 

Wherever “here” is. 

Belatedly, they realize their eyes have been closed since they woke up, and slowly blink them open. When they examine their surroundings, they find themself tucked into a bed in a fairly ordinary house. On one side, their view is mostly blocked by a haphazard stack of boxes. On the other, they can see a wall, lit with a purple glow from some object just out of sight. Farther down, the wall opens into another room. They can hear someone inside, but they’re at the wrong angle to see anything past the doorway. 

Unless the afterlife is a lot more boring than they’ve been led to believe, it’s starting to look like they aren’t actually dead, a hypothesis that’s only made more likely by their growing awareness of the pain in their throat and the ever-present tightness in their lungs. For a moment, they’re almost disappointed by the realization; they could have used the chance to rest.

But if they’re not dead, where are they? And more importantly, _why?_

Moving slowly in fear of triggering another coughing fit, they push themself up onto their elbows to get a better look at the room. A cough claws its way out of their throat as they do. It hurts a little, but they can still breathe, and there’s no taste of coppery blood filling their mouth. It’s only one quick cough, but the sound of it still manages to draw the attention of whoever is in the other room, and the soft noises are replaced by quick, purposeful footsteps. 

Between the cloak, helmet, and floating companion bot, it’s easy to tell that the person who just walked into the room is another drifter, which makes sense when they think about it. Drifters have something of an untrustworthy reputation, and most other people wouldn’t want to take one into their own home, especially one as obviously sick as them.

“Oh, you’re awake! I’m glad to see it,” the other drifter says. “How are you feeling?”

The question makes Drifter realize that they have no idea where their companion bot is, and therefore no way to type out a response. Which means they’ll have to resort to miming, since their throat is still too sore from their last coughing fit to even consider forcing out words. It’s something they’ve never enjoyed doing, since there’s far too much room for people to misunderstand them, but there isn’t much of a choice. 

They catch his eye as best they can through the helmet to make sure he’s watching, then point at the companion bot hovering just behind his shoulder. Then they point at themself, tilting their head and furrowing their eyebrows in a questioning expression. 

“I’m not quite sure what you’re trying to say. Do you mean you want to look at this?” He gently grabs the companion bot, causing it to let out a beep, and starts to offer it to Drifter. 

They shake their head, letting out a frustrated huff. They point to themself again, more insistently, then at the bot. Then they gesture at the empty space near their shoulder where their own bot normally hovers.

“Oh! You want to know where yours is?” At Drifter’s nod, he points to the other side of the bed. “My apologies. It’s laying on that box next to you.”

They push themself into a proper sitting position and turn to look where he’s pointing. Sure enough, their companion bot is laying on top of the taller box, powered off. Next to it is their helmet, which explains the lack of hard metal poking them in the face when they were laying down. They appreciate that, even if they’re not sure how to feel about any part of their gear being taken off by a stranger. They quickly put the helmet on, then scoop up their bot and turn it on. It activates with a beep and floats out of their hand to circle around them, checking for injuries. 

Once it settles, they nudge it forward a little and activate the holographic screen so they can type out a sentence, claws moving quickly across the keyboard. “ _Who are you?_ ” 

“I go by Guardian. What should I call you?”

“ _Drifter,_ ” they answer shortly. “ _How did I get here?_ ”

“You were passed out on a path northwest of here. I found you while I was passing through the area on my way back home. To be honest, I thought you were dead, and I approached to look at your weapons. That’s when I noticed you were still breathing, so I gave you a health pack and warped us back to Central so you could recover safely,” Guardian explains.

“ _Thank you,_ ” Drifter says, briefly bowing their head for emphasis. His actions are an unexpected kindness, even from another drifter. Most would have simply given them a health pack and moved on, if they did anything at all. It’s just as likely that they would have checked to see if Drifter was dead - making their belongings free game - and ignored them once they realized they weren’t.

“It’s no trouble, truly. I couldn’t just leave you there, after all.”

“ _You could have. It wouldn’t have been the worst place I’ve passed out._ ”

“Is that something that happens often?” Guardian sounds concerned, although it’s hard to tell for sure with only the faint glow of his eyes visible behind his helmet. 

They shrug one shoulder. “ _Sometimes. Today was … worse than usual._ ” Something else occurs to them. “ _Actually, is it still today?_ ”

“I’m not sure when you passed out, but it is the same day as when I brought you here, yes. That was just before noon, and it’s early evening now. You’ve been asleep for awhile.”

So they’ve only lost a day. That’s not so bad, especially since Central is closer to where they were headed in the first place. If they leave now, they might even be able to get a little farther before it becomes too dark to see where they’re going. 

“ _I should go. Thank you again for the help._ ” They push off the blanket and swing their legs over the side of the bed, but Guardian puts out a hand to stop them before they can stand up. 

“Wait. It’s getting late, and you won’t be able to get very far tonight. Why don’t you stay here and set off in the morning?” He sounds sincere about the offer, but there’s no way he actually wants some random drifter he just met staying in his house. Maybe he’s just being polite?

Drifter hesitates, covering their uncertainty by fiddling with the lacing on their cloak until it sits just so. “ _It’s okay. I don’t want to impose._ ”

“You’re not imposing if I offer,” Guardian assures. “Stay here, eat a warm meal, and get some rest in a proper bed. You’ll get much more done that way than if you exhaust yourself by running off right away.”

They study him for a moment longer, looking for clues about what he’s thinking, but it’s hard to read anything beyond the seemingly earnest warmth in his voice. “ _Alright. If you’re sure._ ”

“I am,” he says firmly. “Do you have any preferences about dinner?”

They don’t, since their meals for the past few weeks have consisted of dried traveling rations and whatever they can forage and cook themself. Since they are, to put it quite frankly, a terrible cook, they’re pretty sure anything Guardian has to offer would be an improvement. 

Guardian heads back into the room he came from and Drifter, lacking anything better to do and not wanting to sit in bed any longer, follows him. The room they enter is a combination of kitchen and workroom. A few appliances and a counter are crowded against one wall, and a table and several chairs take up most of the remaining floor space. The table is covered with a mix of random objects; stacks of books, map modules, and unidentifiable mechanical bits and pieces litter its surface. Near the head of the table lies a mostly dismantled gun, all its parts surrounding it in neat piles that are sharply at odds with the rest of the mess. 

Drifter immediately heads over to examine it, then pauses and looks at their host for permission. His back is turned as he roots through one of the cabinets with a clanging of metal on metal. He seems busy; getting his attention would take some work, so maybe they should leave him to work on dinner. It’s not like looking will hurt anything, right?

They circle around the table and sit down in the chair closest to the gun so they can get a better look. It’s a beautiful piece, large enough to have some power behind it but not so bulky that it looks inconvenient to carry, although the casing is dirty in a way that suggests it was recently scavenged. Absently, they wonder what happened to its former owner to leave it looking like this, and how long it was sitting wherever that owner fell.

When Drifter inevitably succumbs to this illness, how long will their own weapons sit before another drifter claims them? 

Shaking off the thought, they turn their gaze to the parts piled around the gun, trying to imagine how they would all fit together. The way some of the parts are turned makes it hard to tell where they should go, and Drifter tilts their head to the side in an attempt to get a better look. 

“Do you like it?” Guardian’s voice startles them almost out of their chair, and they quickly scoot away from the gun. When they turn, they see that he’s leaning against the counter next to a pot placed on the slowly heating stove. “I found it a few days ago, but I didn’t get a chance to look at it until now, while I was waiting for you to wake up.”

“ _It’s very nice,_ ” Drifter replies truthfully. “ _But I wasn’t going to touch it, I was only trying to see how it worked._ ”

Guardian moves closer to the table, and they tense slightly, expecting him to take the gun away or scold them for messing with it, but he only leans past them to point at a few of the parts. “Here, look. It’s actually a very clever design. This goes here, to cover the power cell, and then these come next to hold it in place. Then you take this part …”

He quickly runs through all the parts spread over the table, every screw and scrap of plating, until Drifter can almost see the gun fitting together like a puzzle. Just as he’s finishing his explanation, Guardian’s companion bot beeps, and he looks over his shoulder at the stove. “Excuse me, that should be the water boiling. Feel free to try putting that together while I’m cooking, if you want a closer look.”

He moves back to the stove, leaving Drifter by themself at the table once again. 

They turn their eyes back to the gun, taking in the dirty metal of the casing and the soft gleam of the exposed power cell. For a moment, their hand hovers over it uncertainly. Then, mind made up, they pull one of the rags they use to clean their own weapons from their inventory. 

Carefully, they pick up the gun and pop the power cell out of its housing with practiced movements. They set it aside, making sure it’s not in danger of rolling onto the floor, and start scrubbing determinedly at the dirt on the gun’s casing. Most of it turns out to be dust, which looks filthy but isn’t hard to remove. It does get in the air, however, and manages to catch in their throat even through the fabric of their mask. 

They clear their throat, trying to get rid of the tickle from the dust, but that just makes it worse and suddenly they’re choking helplessly on another coughing fit. It’s a bad one; they can taste copper filling their mouth, thick and unpleasant, and their whole body shakes with the force of the coughs. They pull down their mask to spit the blood out of their mouth before they choke on it, and they have just enough composure left to remember to turn their head so it gets on the floor instead of the table or the gun. 

After what feels like hours but was probably less than a minute, the fit subsides, leaving them light headed and hunched in their seat, one hand braced against the table and the other pressed against their mouth in a futile attempt at stopping their blood from getting everywhere. They gasp in a few desperate breaths, trying to regain the air they missed out on while coughing up their internal organs. There’s blood smeared around their mouth and dripping through their fingers, and they wipe it off with the edge of their cloak with a tired grimace. Somewhere in front of them, their companion bot is letting out concerned beeps, and once their hand is clean they reach out blindly to pet it until it stops. 

When they finally manage to look up, Guardian is watching them, face inscrutable as ever behind his helmet. 

They look down at the mess they made of the floor and wince. “ _Sorry._ ” Grabbing the rag they were using to clean the gun, they slide out of their chair and onto the ground to mop up what they can. 

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it. I’ve gotten plenty of blood on that floor myself.” They hear him step closer and put something on the table, but don’t look up until the worst of the blood is cleaned up. When they straighten, he holds out a hand for the bloodied rag. “Watch the stove, I’ll go put this in the laundry.”

They drop back into their chair as he leaves and notice a glass of water sitting next to the mostly clean gun. Glad to get the taste of blood out of their mouth, they drink it quickly before tugging their mask back over their face. 

There’s a spare rag in their inventory, which they pull out once their breathing is somewhat steadier. Trying to distract themself, they wipe down the last few pieces they missed before beginning to piece it together. Between Guardian’s detailed instructions and their own experience, it’s easy enough to figure out. They glance up at the stove once or twice as they work, but they really don’t know what to watch for short of the entire meal catching on fire, so they mostly ignore it. 

It doesn’t take Guardian long to return. Nothing disastrous happened to the food, apparently, because the first thing he does is announce, “Dinner should be just about ready if you’re still hungry.”

They are - starving, in fact - so he brings over two bowls heaped with rice and some kind of fish sauce. It smells absolutely delicious, and Drifter wastes no time pulling their mask off so they can start scarfing it down. By the time Guardian is seated and removing his helmet, they’ve already made a decently sized dent in their portion.

Guardian laughs a little at their enthusiasm. “Slow down, you’ll choke if you eat that fast.”

“ _No,_ ” Drifter says petulantly, taking advantage of the fact that they use their companion bot to talk to keep eating while they answer. “ _I’m hungry and this is the best thing I’ve eaten in weeks._ ”

“I’m flattered, but I would still prefer if you didn’t choke.” His voice sounds warm, and there’s a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “It would look bad for me if you survived being unconscious out in the wild only to die from my cooking.”

They roll their eyes at his worry, but slow their pace slightly. 

Guardian is a lot more restrained about his own meal, blowing gently on a small spoonful of rice before he eats it. After a few bites, he says, “I didn’t realize you were troubled by that particular illness, although I probably should have guessed.”

Even without the helmet, it’s hard to read his expression. Drifter isn’t sure what he’s getting at, but they make a guess. “ _I don’t think it’s contagious, if you’re worried._ ” 

“I don’t believe so either. And even if it was, it wouldn’t make any difference, seeing as I’m afflicted as well.” 

They frown sympathetically. So that’s why he brought it up. “ _Ah. Sorry to hear it._ ”

He shrugs. “There’s not much that can be done about it, so I try not to let it trouble me.”

“ _Well …_ ” Drifter looks down at their mostly empty bowl and pushes some rice around without scooping it up. “ _There might be something. I don’t -.”_ The words aren’t coming out right, and they clear the screen with an irritated tap and try again after a short pause to think. _“It’s a very vague lead and I’m not sure if I’m even understanding it right, so don’t get your hopes up, but … I think I’m on to something._ ”

Guardian leans forward, eyes fixed on their face as though searching for a lie. “What is it?”

“ _There’s something in this area … I don’t know exactly where it is or what it looks like yet, but I think it’s causing this illness somehow. If I can defeat it, maybe that will cure us._ ” It’s a weak hope and they know it, but it’s all they have, so they intend to follow through no matter what anyone else thinks. 

Guardian frowns at that. “What makes you so sure of that, if you don’t know anything about this thing?”

How to word it without sounding crazy? Most people know that hallucinations are one of the main symptoms of this illness, aside from coughing blood, but they honestly don’t think they’re imagining what the Jackal showed them. It’s not that it felt more real than the rest - Judgement’s spear through their chest felt _plenty_ real, unfortunately - but there was something about it that seemed very different from the rest of the visions their mind has been throwing at them. 

In the end, they decide to just be honest about it, and screw the consequences. 

“ _I had a dream, or a vision, or - something. I don’t know what to call it. But whatever it was, I saw the Jackal, and she gave what I think were instructions. They were confusing, but they must be important if they’re coming from her, so I’m doing my best to follow them, which led me here._ ” Guardian is silent for long enough that Drifter starts to get nervous. “ _I know how it sounds, but this was real! I’m not imagining it or hallucinating or - whatever you’re thinking it was._ ”

“I don’t think you’re imagining it,” he says slowly. “I was just surprised. I’ve been having what I think might be a similar vision, and I’ve heard rumors of other people seeing the Jackal as well.”

Drifter’s eyes go wide, and it takes them a moment to start typing out a response. “ _You’ve seen her too?_ ”

“Yes, although I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I’ve been trying to investigate, but the areas around Central are becoming increasingly dangerous for travelers.” Guardian hums thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table. “What I know so far is that there’s a device of some sort in the center of town. It’s locked, but it’s the only thing I can think of that seems important enough to be relevant.”

“ _Do you know how to unlock it?_ ” Drifter asks, perking up. This is a much better lead than they could have hoped to find this quickly. 

“As far as I can tell, it’s activated by a set of modules located in each of the surrounding areas. I have a few guesses about where they might be, but I have yet to be able to reach one.” Guardian finally seems to remember his dinner, and takes a bite before speaking again. “I’m afraid that’s all the information I have, but I hope it helps you find what you’re looking for.”

“ _This is a promising start,_ ” Drifter assures him. “ _Thanks._ ”

As the companion bot displays their answer, their spoon scrapes over ceramic instead of hitting rice, and they look down in mild disappointment at the now empty bowl. 

“There’s more on the stove if you want it,” Guardian says, gesturing over his shoulder with a currently empty spoon before taking another bite. 

Drifter hesitates. On the one hand, it seems a little rude to be taking second helpings while their host is still eating his first. But on the other, it’s _really_ good food, and it’s not like they get to eat like this often. And it’s only this one night; even if they’re a little rude, it’s not like they’ll be seeing Guardian much after this, if at all. Mind made up, they grab their bowl and hurry to the stove. 

The rest of the meal goes by in silence, but to Drifter’s surprise it feels more companionable than awkward. It passes quickly, and before they know it Guardian is swiping their empty bowl from them so he can rinse it out. They take a moment to pull their mask up again, then follow him to the counter.

He tries to shoo Drifter away when they offer to help with the dishes, but they just snatch a towel off the counter and glare at him until he gives in and hands them a well-scrubbed saucepan to dry. 

While he works, Guardian hums to himself, a familiar tune that they recognize as a common lullaby among drifter parents. It’s a song they could sing in their sleep - figuratively speaking, since they can’t actually sing at all anymore thanks to the damage in their throat - and Drifter finds themself mouthing the words as the two of them work their way through the dishes. If Guardian notices them doing it, he doesn’t comment, just keeps humming the same gentle tune.

“That’s the last of it,” Guardian announces a few minutes later, cutting himself off just before the end of a verse. He takes the towel back from Drifter and dries his hands with it, then says, “When you’re ready to sleep, you can use the bed in the other room again.”

Drifter, who has done the math about the people-to-beds ratio in Guardian’s house, gives him a flat look. “ _I’m not taking your bed. You’ve already cooked dinner and given me a place to stay the night; that’s more than enough._ ”

“Well, I’m not letting my guest sleep on the couch.”

“ _Yes you are._ ”

“No, I’m not. You’re sick.”

“ _So are you. It’s not like sleeping in a bed instead of on the couch would cure me of being sick; if it was that easy, I wouldn’t even need to be here._ ”

“You’ll get worse if you don’t get a good night’s rest, though,” Guardian says in an annoyingly reasonable tone. “I found you in the middle of nowhere, so I doubt you’ve been sleeping very comfortably for at least the past week, probably longer.”

He’s right about that, but they aren’t going to admit it and make him think they’re giving in. “ _A couch is already better than outside under a tree. I’ll be fine.”_

“Drifter.” Guardian crosses his arms firmly. “Take the bed. One night on a couch won’t do me any harm, and it’ll help you feel better.”

They cross their arms too, but he just gives them an unimpressed look and doesn’t budge. 

After a short staring contest, they relent with a huff. “ _... Fine._ ” 

Apparently satisfied, he herds them out of the kitchen with a gentle push. It’s not enough force to actually move them if they decide not to comply, but there’s being stubborn and then there’s acting like a child, and they like to think they have _some_ dignity. 

“Oh, I forgot I left that in here,” Guardian says, pausing just inside the door to the bedroom and gesturing at the glowing purple object on the floor. “It has a map of the area, if you want to download a copy.”

Drifter nods, directing their companion bot over to do just that. With their bot busy, they can’t answer with words, so they dip their head briefly to show thanks. Guardian seems to understand, giving a small smile in return. 

“Sleep well,” he says. “Let me know when you want to leave; I’ll grab you some food for the road.”

With that, he turns to leave the room. After a moment the light in the kitchen clicks off, leaving the doorway dark. 

Now alone, they take a moment to look over the map their companion bot downloaded. It’s a little basic, displaying only the main paths in each area and neglecting large swathes of less-traveled wilderness, but it’s complete enough for their purposes. Satisfied, they close the map and give the bot a couple of pats, then cross the room to tap the light switch on the opposite wall. 

They make their way to the bed by the glow of their companion bot and sit down on the edge to pull off their boots, then lean over to set their helmet on one of the boxes sitting on the other side. Sleeping in a helmet is uncomfortable and Guardian has already seen their whole face anyway, so there’s no point in being formal and leaving it on when they don’t have to.

They’re not especially tired, probably because they spent most of the day unconscious, but they lay down anyway and eventually manage to slip into a fitful sleep. Their dreams, as usual now, are full of red water and tar-black smoke, the whole scene lit by the unwavering glow of a white shape hanging in the sky like a sun.

-

When Drifter wakes up with a start, the house is dark and quiet. The light from the kitchen is still off, and their companion bot has gone into sleep mode to conserve power, leaving the purple glow of the map by the doorway as the only source of light in the room. 

For a moment, they think about Guardian’s offer of breakfast and consider sleeping a little longer, but they’ve been in his house for long enough. They have food of their own, and they can buy or find more if they need it. There’s no point in imposing further when he’s already been so kind. 

They push off the blankets and get out of bed. 

There’s not enough light in the room to do anything more than create shadowy suggestions of the furniture, but it’s enough for them to navigate by without running into anything as they gather their few things and slip quietly into the kitchen, companion bot tucked under their cloak to hide its glow. They round the table slowly, moving mostly by memory to avoid the chairs placed around it, and continue through a second door into another room they hadn’t paid much attention to last night. From what they can make out of the shadowy shapes scattered throughout it, this room is less cluttered than the kitchen, but only just. On the opposite side of the room, they can see the faint green glow that indicates a door switch. Between them and the door is a vaguely couch-shaped mound, and they can hear the sound of someone breathing quietly - Guardian, most likely, unless they’ve just walked in on a break-in, which they’re pretty sure they haven’t. 

They have no frame of reference for where anything is in this room, so they keep their hands out in front of them as they slowly shuffle around the couch. They look down as they pass it, making note of the dark shape of Guardian sleeping. As they watch, he coughs a few times with the same rough hacking sound they’ve heard from themself far too often. They freeze, but he doesn’t seem to have woken up from it, so they slowly start moving toward the door again. 

Through some minor miracle, they reach the door without tripping over anything or knocking anything over. With a final glance over their shoulder at the couch, they activate the panel, causing the door to open with a soft swish. Outside, the soft glow of dawn is just beginning to light the tops of the nearby buildings, and they can hear the distant sound of a town slowly coming awake. 

The door swishes closed behind them, and they set off for the east edge of town without looking back. 


	2. Chapter 2

Guardian isn’t surprised when he wakes up to an empty house, but he is slightly disappointed. 

Drifters, as a whole, are not terribly social people; it’s part of the reason why wandering alone through the often hostile ruins of the world comes so naturally to them. They’ll offer aid to each other when they can, and sometimes travel together out of practicality, but drifters who don’t share a close bond of some kind don’t usually stick around each other for long once whatever problem they were working on is solved, so he’d fully expected his impromptu houseguest to leave as soon as they could. 

Still, they could have at least let him offer them some food before they went, or told him that they were leaving so he could give advice about wherever they were headed. That’s just common sense for a drifter entering a new town, really - first stock up on food and information as fast as possible, _then_ get out before the locals decide they don’t like you. Drifter has done this entirely backwards.

There’s nothing he can do about it now, though, since he has no idea where they went or how long ago they left. After a quick check through the house to confirm that they really have left and didn’t just tuck themself in some odd corner somewhere, he lets the matter drop for now and moves on to planning his own day. 

Like always, there are roughly a million tasks around town that he needs to get done, varying in urgency from “whenever you have time” to “get this done three days ago, if you could.” People to check in with, equipment to repair, dangerous wildlife to clear off the path, travelers to watch out for, groceries to buy, puzzles to solve, mysterious dreams to investigate - the list never seems to end. He chose to accept his role as the town’s guardian when they gave him the name and he doesn’t regret it, but sometimes he swears the amount of work it takes is going to stress him into an early grave. 

Well. An _earlier_ grave. This illness doesn’t exactly come with a long life expectancy to begin with. 

It’s too early for morbid thoughts like that, though, so he puts it firmly out of his mind and focuses instead on the growling of his stomach. Before he can do anything else, he needs breakfast. He hasn’t had much of an appetite lately, even on the best of days, but he still doesn’t like working on an empty stomach. He needs all the energy he can get, after all. 

Today is better than usual; the taste of blood hasn’t filled his mouth yet, and the idea of food is appealing rather than simply tolerable. That’s something to celebrate, so he decides to treat himself to some pastries from his favorite vendor before getting started on his work.

He’s already put on his armor, so he only has to fetch his cloak from where he left it last night, half-thrown over a chair near the kitchen doorway. The weight of it caused it to slip down at some point during the night, leaving it in a messy heap on the floor, but any wrinkles caused by the careless treatment shake out easily as he swings it over his shoulders and fastens it with only slightly shaky fingers.

His helmet is next, snatched off the low living room table on his way to the door. He takes a moment to put it on, making sure he’s properly covered, before he activates the slightly laggy old door panel and steps out into the morning sunlight.

It’s the middle of spring, meaning the weather is more unpredictable than a sugar-high child, but today it’s pleasant outside. The sky is clear and the air is warm, with only a slight breeze to hint at the biting cold of a departing winter. Guardian takes a deep breath, enjoying the ability to breathe without his lungs hurting from the chill, and starts down the small hill toward the main part of town, humming softly to himself. 

Central is a small place, and he’s not too far from the marketplace to start with, so it’s a short walk. A few people call out greetings as he passes, and he waves in return, occasionally stopping to exchange pleasantries before moving on. 

At one point, he’s interrupted by a small pack of children racing by, forcing him to step out of their way as they shout and tumble over each other, kicking a ball back and forth at high enough speeds to qualify it as a deadly projectile. 

One of them misses their kick, and the ball goes sailing past them toward Guardian’s face. He snatches it easily out of the air with one hand before it can hit him, then tosses it gently back to the now frozen children. 

“Be more careful, alright? You could hurt someone like that,” he chides, but there’s no real heat in his voice. 

The kid who caught the ball nods rapidly, expression solemn, then turns to drop kick the ball as hard as they can, sending all the other kids racing after it. With a smile and a wave over their shoulder at Guardian, they hurry to join the others, shouting instructions to their teammates at the top of their lungs as they go. 

Guardian watches the group of children run off between two nearby buildings, feeling the hint of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, before continuing with his walk. 

The vendor is where she’s been every day since he first came to town, sweet-smelling wares laid out enticingly on a rickety table covered by a brightly-colored cloth. When Guardian arrives, she squints up at him through her thick glasses, deepening the numerous wrinkles around her eyes.

“So you finally decided to give old Nara the time of day, eh? Stopped thinking you were too good to visit your poor baker?”

“I saw you two days ago on my way to the apothecary, Nara,” he reminds her. “And the day before that when I helped you carry all those new pans back to your house.”

“That was two whole days ago! Anything could have happened to me in two days. Why, I could have just disappeared out of town all together and no one would be the wiser!” She gestures dramatically as she talks, wide movements of her arms that occasionally put her sleeves in danger of catching on one of the pastries. 

“Nonsense, the other merchants would notice the smell of your pastries being gone, and then they would have told me. There’s hardly any danger in this town that I don’t hear about sooner or later.” _Whether I need can help with it or not_ , he thinks but doesn’t add. Telling him makes the townspeople feel safer, and he won’t begrudge them that. 

“Well, I suppose so,” she says, sounding almost disappointed to have to give up that argument. “But I still think I should get to see you more often. You need some feeding, kid.”

“I’m not _that_ young, Nara,” Guardian sighs, but there’s not much force behind it. He’s long given up on trying to get her to acknowledge his age.

She drops the grumpy act to grin toothily at him. “You’re still a good bit younger than me, though, and that’s what counts.”

“If you say so,” he says doubtfully. 

“I do.” She nods firmly to emphasize her point. “But you’re not here to talk about your age, I assume, so what’ll it be?”

He scans over the various pastries laid out in front of her, then points at a small pile of fruit-filled puffs that have been given pride of place in the center of the table. “Two of those, please.”

“Well, at least your taste hasn’t gotten worse while you were off rescuing mysterious strangers from the woods and forgetting all about old Nara,” she says approvingly. 

“What?” Guardian asks, pausing with his hand halfway to his wallet.

“You know,” Nara replies absently as she wraps the puffs in a napkin and passes them over. “That other drifter you carried into town? Everyone was quite interested in speaking to them, but from what I heard they took off like a shot this morning before I had even made it to the market.” 

“Did you happen to hear which way they went?” Maybe he shouldn’t follow them, but he has to admit that he’s curious whether they’re right about the cure under Central, and working together would make activating the modules to test their theory much easier. 

Also, based on what he’s seen of Drifter so far, there’s a not insignificant chance that they’ll work themselves to the point of collapse again, and as Guardian of the town it’s _kind_ of his job not to let travellers get themselves killed in the surrounding wilds.

Nara shrugs as if it doesn’t concern her, but Guardian knows that she’s a terrible gossip, and when she said ‘everyone’ was quite interested in speaking to Drifter, she mostly meant herself. “Out east toward the Lake, I believe. At least that’s what one of the night guards said when she came over for a snack after her shift. And that’ll be one gearbit, by the way,” she adds, gesturing to the puffs he’s holding. 

He thanks her and passes over a gearbit, makes friendly noncommittal noises at her insistence that he visit again tomorrow, and heads off in a vaguely eastward direction.

It would be more practical to sit down and eat somewhere so he could take his helmet off, but moving has always helped him think, and he’s had enough practice eating under his helmet that it barely slows him down at this point. As he bites into the first puff, his mind wanders back to last night’s conversation with Drifter. 

It seems far too good to be true, that the cure for their illness could have been right under his nose this whole time, located by some strange twist of fate in the very town he’s decided to call home for whatever short time he has left. The world is rarely so kind, in his experience. 

They’d seemed so certain, though, and he has to admit that their dreams of the Jackal makes for convincing evidence that there’s _something_ here worth chasing. His own investigations support that as well, from what he can tell. No one builds such a large, elaborate lock for an empty room, although until now he’d vaguely assumed it to contain some kind of treasure or a dangerous weapon left over from the war. 

Even curious as he is about the device, he hasn’t put as much effort into finding the modules as he could have. The outer regions around Central are dangerous enough these days that investigating had seemed too risky considering the uncertain payoff when there were more immediate problems to solve closer to home, but maybe with another drifter also working at it he’ll finally be able to get somewhere. He doesn’t know how skilled Drifter is, but he has no doubt that they could fight through to the modules on stubbornness alone based on what he saw in the short time he spent with them. 

It’s the first time in a week that he’s thought about the modules at all, much less seriously considered going after them, but something about Drifter’s fiercely hopeful determination is contagious. There’s no proof that whatever the modules are keeping locked holds the cure, but there’s also no proof that it _doesn’t._ And if Drifter is wrong, so what? Sure, it’ll be dangerous, but Guardian is dying anyway; a few months longer or shorter makes no difference at all. 

The hundred other tasks on his to-do list are still clamoring for his attention, but there’s nothing so urgent that he couldn’t take a day or two off to search. 

Mind made up, he polishes off what’s left of his breakfast and does a quick run-through of his inventory to make sure he has everything, then pulls up a map of the nearby warp pads on his companion bot. He has no real way of knowing where Drifter is; ‘east’ is incredibly vague as far as directions go and the Lake is a large area even without taking the underwater parts into account. But unless they left in the middle of the night, they can only have a few hours’ head start over him at most, which means that the area around the warp pad seems like the best place to start looking. 

He taps the small icon indicating the eastern warp pad on the map and kneels down, cloak pooling around him. Warping isn’t dangerous at all, but it causes enough disorientation that it’s best not to stay standing during a warp unless he wants to risk falling over when he rematerializes. 

His bot beeps, a light flashes, and he closes his eyes as the familiar gut-churning sensation of a warp washes over him. No matter how many times he does this, it never gets less uncomfortable. It’s not painful, but it’s a strange feeling that’s almost impossible to describe - although another drifter he knows once phrased it as feeling “like all her organs got replaced with a carbonated drink,” which is a weird turn of phrase but not entirely inaccurate.

After a few seconds the sensation fades, leaving him kneeling on a warp pad. When he opens his eyes and looks up, the sun reflecting off the water in front of him throws dazzling beams of light into his eyes, and he has to look away immediately, blinking spots out of his vision. He stands up, scanning the area. There’s no one in sight; for some reason, most people and even animals tend to stay away from the warp pads, making them relatively safe resting places. 

He pulls up a map of the area, coughing absently into one fist as he tries to decide where to go next. His version of the map is dotted with small pink diamonds marking his best guesses at the locations of the modules, but he can’t remember if he added those to the backup map he gave Drifter to download. He’ll have to check next time he sees them, but for now that means he’ll have to assume they’re navigating blind.

Still, there’s only one path from Central to here, and there’s only a few directions to go from here. He can see from where he’s standing that the way south is still blocked, leaving only the path that branches off just east of the warp pad. Both directions lead off into a tangle of platforms and underground walkways that eventually lead to dead ends, he knows, but it’s hard to tell which direction Drifter would choose without knowing more about how they think.

After a minute of debating back and forth with no real progress, Guardian picks the path straight to the east mostly at random. If Drifter passed through, there will probably be some sign of their passage; if not, he can back-track and try the other path. With a small nod to himself, he closes the map and starts walking.

As he descends the short flight of stairs and crosses the first waterway, he realizes that it’s not just the area around the warp pad that’s empty of people. In the past, an area so close to the temple would have been bustling with otters, but he sees no movement aside from bugs and a few small animals flitting through the water. He hopes at first that the otters in the area have just been scared off by the aggressive attacks of the toads, but hardly two minutes have passed before he sees the first white-furred bodies. 

There are several of them, floating limply in the water just off the path. He doesn’t look too closely, but there’s no scent of rot choking the air, so he guesses they haven’t been dead for very long. Their attackers might still be around. 

If he’s honest, he almost wants them to be. He was too late to save these otters, but he wouldn’t mind offering vengeance on their behalf. 

Since the toads started attacking, there’s been very little he can do to help the otters, as much as it pains him to think about. He fights off small groups of toads when he can, and when he comes across the small groups of otters that manage to escape, he escorts them to Central and offers to search for missing family members, but those are only a fraction of the population and the toads outnumbered them even before all this started. There are simply too many for him to deal with on his own, as much as he wishes he could just save everyone. 

He realizes that he’s stopped walking, staring blankly at the floating bodies without actually seeing them, and forces himself to turn away. One impossible problem at a time, he tells himself. 

It’s very quiet as he walks. His footsteps seem to ring out louder than they should, cutting over the sound of flowing water and the soft rush of wind through the plants growing on the walkway. Occasionally a small animal or a fish darts through the water with a splash, making him glance over sharply. One of the toads’ favorite tactics is hiding underwater and then jumping out to ambush unsuspecting passers-by, and it wouldn’t do to let himself get caught off guard. Those shurikens of theirs _hurt._

Minutes pass with no sign of anything hostile, not even the annoying little bomb creatures that like to hide among the plants. He sees several more otters floating in the water and a few sprawled across the path like dropped dolls, limbs askew and fur stained reddish-brown with partially dried blood, but not a single toad body. 

The blood stains splattered around the bodies become increasingly fresh as he walks, putting him on edge. This was a recent attack, so where are the attackers? Maybe they’ve moved on already, but assuming they haven’t, this kind of quiet just screams _ambush._

He turns a corner and crosses a short rest area. As he’s getting ready to dash across a small gap, he hears a set of wet thwaps from behind him and whirls around, drawing his gun. 

A pair of toad warriors stare at him from across the small platform. One is already throwing a shuriken, and he only narrowly manages to dodge out of the way before firing off a shot in return. 

Switching to his sword, he dashes in and swings, sending one toad to the ground in a spray of blood. The other hops back, readying its own shuriken. He’s so focused on dodging it that he doesn’t notice more toads surfacing behind him, and he grunts in pain as a shuriken cuts a line across his upper arm from behind. 

He grits his teeth and presses forward in another dash. One swipe, two, and the second toad goes down, leaving him free to turn and face the new threat. 

More shurikens come flying towards him, and he dashes out of the way, using the momentum to add strength to his swing and separate one toad’s head from its shoulders. That leaves only two, but they’re spaced out so that attacking one would mean turning his back on the other. 

He’ll just have to be fast, then. 

He lunges for the closest one. It jumps back, but another dash puts him in striking range, and two quick slashes are enough to finish it. 

Another shuriken hits him in the center of his back. The impact might cause a bruise later, but it wasn’t enough to break through the armor, so he shakes it off and turns to the last toad. It throws another shuriken, too fast for him to dodge, and he grunts as it hits him in the thigh. 

He stumbles slightly, then catches his balance and forces himself into a dash, striking at the toad with his sword as soon as he’s in range. The blow connects and the hard light blade cuts through the toad’s unarmored body like it’s nothing. 

A flash of movement a short distance away catches his eye, and he whips his head up, readying his sword for another attack - only to see Drifter poised on the platform he came from earlier as if they’ve just finished a dash, black eyes wide with surprise. 

Guardian lowers his sword and coughs a few times to clear his throat before calling, “Hello again! I wasn’t expecting to run into you so soon, but you’re a welcome sight after those toads.”

Drifter hesitates, and for a moment he half thinks they’re going to turn around and run back the way they came. Then their shoulders move in what looks like a sigh, and they dash across the narrow waterway between them and Guardian. 

They slide to a stop a polite distance away and reach for their companion bot, opening the program they use to display their sentences. “ _What are you doing here?_ ”

“I was looking for you, actually,” he admits. “Although I thought it would take longer.”

Drifter tilts their head, brow furrowing, and Guardian is reminded once again of just how _expressive_ they are. Even with the mask and helmet covering most of their face they are, if not an open book, then at least one with a transparent cover. “ _Why?_ ”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday. If these modules lead to a cure like you think, that makes finding them a lot more urgent than it was when I thought they were just locking up some old treasure,” he explains. “But I haven’t had much luck reaching them on my own, so I thought we might make faster progress together.”

They hesitate for a moment, then type, “ _I don’t want to drag you into my problems._ ” 

“This sickness is my problem, too. Why should I leave you to solve it on my own when I’m in the area and able to help?”

“ _It’ll be dangerous._ ”

He can’t help scoffing at that. “What isn’t, these days? I may have settled down in Central, but I’m still a drifter, and they named me their guardian for a reason; I can handle a bit of danger.” His voice comes out a little too curt, and he regrets it as he watches Drifter frown slightly. 

“ _I didn’t mean any offense._ ” They glance away and tug at their cloak, shifting it slightly on their shoulder, then smooth out the wrinkles caused by the movement until it looks exactly like it did before. “ _It’s just that we hardly know each other. You’d trust a stranger to have your back without even knowing what we’re up against?_ ”

Guardian tilts his head slightly. “Why shouldn’t I?” If they were the type to stab him in the back, they would have done it already; there was ample opportunity for it while they were in his house. 

Instead, they’re worried about _endangering_ him. It’s a sweet thought, if entirely misplaced.

“ _If this is your attitude towards strangers, it’s a wonder you survived this long,_ ” Drifter is saying when he refocuses on their conversation.

“Not all strangers,” he replies. “But I like to think I’m a good judge of character, and I like what I’ve seen of yours so far.”

They shake their head disbelievingly, briefly covering their eyes with one hand before lowering it so they can see their screen. “ _You’re going to get yourself killed one day._ ”

“Possibly, yes, but unless that’s a threat I think the illness will get there first,” Guardian says lightly. “Is that a yes to working with me on the modules?”

Several expressions flit across what he can see of Drifter’s face in quick succession, until they settle on something like resignation and heave an exaggerated sigh. “ _Alright, fine. What’s your plan?_ ”

Guardian beckons his companion bot - which has been floating curiously around Drifter’s bot for most of the conversation - back to his side and opens up the map, angling it so that Drifter can see it. “These diamonds mark where I think the modules are,” he says, gesturing at the small pink symbols. “They’re only guesses, but they should get us moving in the right direction.”

Drifter leans in so they can see better. After a moment of scanning the map, they point at a diamond southeast of the warp pad. “ _You think some of them are in the lake? Why?_ ”

“Not _in_ the lake,” he corrects. “Under it. Only about half the infrastructure around Central is above ground; a lot of the old tunnels got expanded during the war to hide labs and bunkers.”

“ _That makes sense. I’ve seen that in some of the other nearby towns as well._ ” They turn away from the map and look up at Guardian. “ _Does it matter which order we activate them in?_ ”

“Not to my knowledge, no.”

They nod decisively. “ _Then let's get that one first_ _, since it seems to be closest. Unless you had another preference?_ ”

“This seems as good a place to start as any,” Guardian says with a shrug. After one more look at the map to orient himself, he closes it and starts walking.

As they travel, Drifter somehow ends up ahead of him despite constantly detouring to look at every box, plant, and piece of architecture that could potentially be hiding something. Every few minutes they dash out several yards ahead, pull out their sword to poke at whatever caught their attention, and then dash back to give him an impatient look as if he’s greatly inconveniencing them by moving at a regular speed instead of sprinting all over the place. 

At one point, something on the ground seems to catch their attention and they dash toward the edge of the platform. He expects them to stop there, but instead they dash again, straight out over the water. Guardian jolts forward, ready to pull them out - with so many toads around, the water is very much not safe for swimming in - but instead of falling, Drifter lands on a previously invisible platform that lights up under their boots. 

They run forward a short distance and dash again, and then again, eventually coming to a stop on a small platform mostly concealed by a strand of waterlogged trees that Guardian hadn’t noticed until now. He can’t make out what they’re doing, but it only takes a few seconds before they turn around and come back, each platform lighting up and then turning invisible in turn as they pass.

“What was that about?” Guardian asks once Drifter is back on solid, non-invisible ground.

Instead of answering verbally, they hold up a gearbit, flipping it between their fingers so it shines in the sunlight before tucking it away under their cloak.

Guardian blinks, surprised. “How did you notice that from here? And how did you know the path would be there?”

“ _I saw another invisible path like that on my way over. It had a small symbol on the ground next to where it began, and I noticed a similar one just over there._ ” They point at the ground behind them, where Guardian can see a small square carved into the stone. It looks more like a chip in the stone than a purposeful symbol, and he wouldn’t have paid it any mind if they hadn’t said anything.

“You have sharp eyes,” he praises. “I’m impressed.”

For a moment, Drifter’s hands hover over their screen like they’re going to type something, but then they turn around instead and start walking quickly further east. Guardian blinks, mildly surprised, but doesn’t comment as he follows. 

Their walk is uneventful enough that he’s almost relieved when he turns a corner into a plaza and startles a group of toads busily piling up otter bodies, if only because it means they’ve just been lucky so far and aren’t about to walk into another ambush. 

“Get ready,” he tells Drifter, who’s come to a stop to his left, for once lagging slightly behind. Before he can say anything else, one of the toads shouts a battle cry and all four of them leap into action, dropping the bodies they’d been dragging without a second thought. 

There’s a rush of air beside him as Drifter dashes forward, while Guardian pulls out his gun and fires several times at the nearest toad. One shot hits, singeing its chest, but the others miss as it leaps out of the way. It lands somewhere off to the side, but he doesn’t have time to see where before he has to dodge out of the way of a flurry of sharp silver shurikens. 

Unsheathing his sword with his other hand, Guardian dashes toward the toad that just threw a shuriken at him. It bounces back with a wet _thwap_ sound and croaks something that sounds like a curse. He swings at it, and it leaps out of the way again, throwing another shuriken as it lands. Guardian steps to the side and dashes forward again, taking him out of the shuriken’s trajectory and into close range with the toad where he can slice through its chest with one sharp motion. 

It falls with a gurgle, and Guardian has just started to look for his next target when he hears a shout. 

“Behind you!”

His body obeys on instinct, whirling around just in time to see the missing second toad leaping at him with its shuriken raised. He jumps back, stumbles over the outstretched arm of the toad he just killed, and falls on his back. 

He rolls immediately, hearing a scrape of metal on stone behind him as a shuriken narrowly misses his throat. As he scrambles to his feet, Drifter dashes into view between him and the toad, drawing its attention away from him. 

They move like the fight is a well-known dance, never missing a step as they weave gracefully around the toad, darting in to strike and then dashing away again before it can retaliate. The toad tries throwing a shuriken, but Drifter is out of the way almost before it completes the motion, dashing to a spot behind the toad where it can’t see them. 

As the toad turns to follow their movement, Guardian takes the opening to raise his gun and fire. The blast hits it squarely in the back of the head, causing it to drop like a puppet with its strings cut. 

Drifter meets his eyes and touches two fingers to their helmet in a casual salute, eyes scrunched at the corners like they’re grinning behind their mask. Then, with a flourish, they twirl their sword in one hand and stab it down into the ground, dusting off their hands afterward in a clear _all done_ motion. 

Sure enough, when Guardian takes a moment to look around the plaza, all four toads are dead. He’d barely noticed Drifter taking out the other two, too focused on his own fight, but they must have done so very quickly, to be able to help him like that. 

He hadn’t recognized the hoarse voice that shouted a warning just in time to keep him from getting a nasty surprise, but there’s only one person in the area that would have done that, which means -.

“I didn’t know you could speak,” he says, looking at Drifter. 

They tilt their head and wobble one hand in a _so-so_ gesture. “Sometimes,” they rasp. “But I refer not to. Usually hurts.”

“Well, then, please don’t hurt yourself on my account. I can read just fine.”

Drifter nods once and reaches for their companion bot, but instead of displaying their text screen, it beeps loudly and flashes a medical alert symbol. Guardian thinks they roll their eyes - although it’s kind of hard to tell - and then they reach out to try and grab the little bot. It beeps again and moves just out of reach, still flashing the same symbol. 

Concerned, Guardian steps closer and eyes them up and down, searching for signs of an injury. There’s pink blood splattering them in several places, but none of it seems to be theirs as far as he can tell. 

“Where are you hurt?” He asks. 

“I’m not,” they begin, only to be immediately interrupted by more beeping. “ _Hush._ Got grazed on the arm, that’s all. Nothing bad.”

They push their cloak out of the way to illustrate their point, revealing a nasty looking gash across their bicep that’s slowly but steadily soaking their sleeve with blood. 

“That’s definitely not nothing,” Guardian says, alarmed, and quickly pulls out a health pack. “Here. You need to fix that as soon as possible.”

“I have my own, don’t waste that on me,” they say, stepping back as if he’s brandishing a weapon rather than a small white box.

“It’s not a _waste,_ this is what they’re for. Use your own if you want to, but we’re not moving on until you’re healed up.”

They heave an exasperated sigh and lean down to grab their sword, tucking it back under their cloak. “What are you, my parent? It’s _fine._ ”

“Your bot clearly doesn’t think so.” Guardian gestures at the bot, which is still hovering just out of Drifter’s reach, beeping every so often. “And I’m inclined to trust it, since keeping track of your vitals is one of its main functions.”

Drifter glares at their bot, then turns their frown back to Guardian. He returns their gaze calmly, and after a few seconds they throw their hands up and reach over to snatch the health pack out of his grip. Without another word, they flip open the case, pull out the small syringe from inside, and slam it into the center of their chest hard enough to make Guardian wince. 

He watches the soft glow rise over the gash on their arm, quickly knitting their skin back together. Within a few moments, only a thin, scabbed line remains, looking like a days-old injury rather than a freshly sustained one. 

It’s good enough to get the bot to stop flashing its medical alert symbol, and it finally allows Drifter close enough to use their keyboard again. 

“ _If you’re done fussing over me like I’m a child, can we go? I’d like to find at least one module today, if we can, and we don’t know when we’ll run into more of those toads._ ”

“Lead the way,” Guardian replies, and they take off immediately, hopping over one of the fallen toads and dashing farther down the path while he follows at a slightly slower pace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much the update speed you can expect from me, since I'm busy with classes and doing my best to write at a slower pace to avoid burning myself out, but I promise I'm still working on this! There's a lot of future scenes that I'm excited to get to so I can't just drop this now


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo ... hi! I'm not dead! I would love to be able to blame the whole everything situation in the world right now for the speed of this update, but to be honest I'm just like this.

Drifter slides out of a dash and pauses, glancing over their shoulder at Guardian, who’s moving at the same steady pace he always seems to use. He _can_ move faster than this, they know he can. They saw him during the fight earlier - and hadn’t that been a sight to behold? - and while he doesn’t use the same lightning-quick darting style they favor themself, he’s definitely no slouch. 

Which means he’s being slow on purpose, and Drifter is at a loss for why in the world he would choose to do that when the two of them could have covered far more ground by now if he just sped up a bit. Still, it’s not really worth picking a fight over. They’ve already mostly accepted that they’ll be spending a lot of time today waiting for Guardian to catch up to them. 

As they wait, they rub a hand absently over their throat as if that will do anything to soothe the pain there. They’re feeling a lot better than they were last night, but they’re definitely not fully recovered yet - or, as fully recovered as they can get, at least - and they probably shouldn’t have been shouting. But it was that or let Guardian be snuck up on, which was not an option. If he’s going to insist on trusting them for whatever strange reason, they want to do their best to prove themself worthy of that trust, and that’s worth a little discomfort. 

The soreness isn’t bad enough yet to stop them from talking if they need to, but they should probably avoid any more shouting if they want to end the day capable of making noises louder than a whisper. Considering how many enemies they’ve run into already and how far they’ve got left to go to reach even one module, they give that a fairly low chance of happening, but they can hope, right?

There’s a barely audible scuff of footsteps just behind them as Guardian finally catches up. With his armor and his solid bulk, they expected him to move more loudly, but he walks like someone used to going unheard. 

Instead of dashing ahead again, Drifter matches his pace and calls their companion bot into reach with a gesture. The little traitor finally seems inclined to listen to them again, and doesn’t start beeping or floating out of range when they try to open their keyboard. 

“ _How much further?_ ” They’ve had enough practice that they barely need to look at the screen as they type, and they choose instead to turn their head in Guardian’s direction.

Guardian pulls up his map again, then looks at the area around them with a thoughtful hum. “Not far. If I remember right, the elevator is just on the other side of this building.” 

Drifter leans in slightly so they can see the map as well, but whatever elevator he’s talking about doesn’t seem to be marked on it, so they’ll just have to take his word for it. “ _What can we expect once we get there?_ ”

“A lot more toads,” he answers immediately, sounding slightly disgusted about it. “Including some that like to throw explosives around. And then there are the plant beasts, which are even worse; be careful around those.”

Instead of bothering to write out a question, Drifter tilts their head curiously and lifts their hands in the universal _what?_ gesture.

“Have you not run into any yet?” They shake their head. “Well, that’s lucky; they’re very annoying to deal with, and in packs the larger kind can be deadly. There’s two types - the little ones, which explode when you kill them, and the big ones, which have a mouth full of teeth and like to charge when provoked.”

Drifter draws in a hissing breath through their teeth. “ _How big are we talking, exactly?_ ”

“Almost your height, I would say, and their mouth takes up most of that. They could bite a leg off if you’re not careful, so don’t let them corner you.”

“Damn,” Drifter mutters out loud, causing Guardian to laugh. It quickly trails off into a cough, and he has to clear his throat before answering.

“I think that’s the appropriate response, yes. But don’t worry; as quick as you are, you should have no problem staying out of their way, and from there it’s just a matter of wearing them down.”

That sounds doable, they suppose, and not actually too different from their usual approach to anything they can’t take out in one or two hits. Then another concerning thought occurs to them. “ _If that’s a big one, how big are the small ones?_ ”

“Think small dog sized. They’re fairly easy to punt as long as you’re quick.”

Drifter stares at him for a moment in disbelief, then slowly types, “ _Sorry, are you saying you kick the exploding mini-plants?_ ”

“Well,” Guardian says, then hesitates. “Phrased like that, it does sound bad, but it’s not _that_ dangerous. There’s a second or two between when you kill them and when they explode, and sometimes kicking them then is the easiest way to get them out of range before they go off.”

Drifter shakes their head, but they can’t really argue with that because honestly, it sounds like something they’d consider doing themself if the situation called for it. “ _Okay. So: toads that throw bombs, plants that ARE bombs, and plants with mouths the size of a person. Am I missing anything?_ ”

Guardian considers for a moment. “There are also some dirks, I believe. They’re more or less everywhere in this part of the world.”

“ _Dirks are hardly a danger._ ” Drifter waves their hand dismissively at the thought. 

“Still, it’s good to know you should expect them,” Guardian says with a shrug. “Outside of the plant beasts, most of what I’ve encountered here in the past isn’t too dangerous except in groups. There are just a lot of them, and there’s not always enough room to maneuver underground. Between the two of us, I think we’ll be alright.”

Drifter hums quietly, but doesn’t answer. They don’t want to admit that it might be for the best that they’ve inadvertently gained a partner for this particular adventure, but … 

The thing is, they would be fine. They’re _always_ fine, because they can’t accept anything less from themself. As long as they can keep moving, keep fighting, they can get themself out of anything. And it takes a lot to make them _stop_ moving, although lately their body has been doing a wonderful job of sabotaging itself before their enemies can even get there. 

But they do have to admit that having someone to back them up will probably get them back to town in … a better state of fine than they usually are. Yes, that’s how they’ll put it for now. Guardian’s presence is a bonus, but certainly not a necessity. 

That line of thought carries them down a set of worn stairs and into a short covered hallway. It’s noticeably dimmer inside, and slightly cooler as well, although the air is still just as humid as it’s been everywhere else on the Lake. A few canisters of the pink fire that Drifter has seen in other parts of the region dot the walls, but most of the lighting comes from the high, narrow windows above them. Sunlight pours through in sharp golden lines, illuminating the bits of dust floating in the air and falling in neat bars across the pale stone floor. 

Drifter looks around curiously as they walk, but other than the fire canisters there doesn’t seem to be anything in the hallway. They briefly consider breaking one, just to see what happens, but decide against it after another glance at Guardian. If it turns out that this fire is explosive or something, they imagine he wouldn’t be very happy to be caught in the blast. Instead they continue straight down the short hallway, listening to the way the light tapping of their steps echoes off the empty stone walls to fill the space with far more sound than it should. 

And then they’re through, stepping back out into the sunlight with a blink. Going through the hallway didn’t take very long, but it was just enough time for their eyes to start adjusting to the dimmer light, so the full glare of the sun makes them squint, half-blinded by the dazzle of reflected light off white stone and clear water. 

When their vision adjusts, Guardian is - for once - a few steps ahead of them, apparently unbothered by the sun. Drifter supposes that full-face helmet of his probably does a good job of blocking bright light. That, or he’s been here often enough that he’s not worried about walking off a platform and straight into the water while blinded. 

They quicken their pace, intending to draw level with him again, only to change their mind and dash ahead when a squarish mark on the ground catches their attention. It turns out to be a natural chip in the rock, unfortunately, but there’s a random chunk of masonry up ahead that looks like it might be hiding something. They dash again, catching themself on the broken edge of the stone when they slightly misjudge their momentum and almost run straight into a wall, and grin triumphantly when they spot the telltale white and green of a health pack partially buried under a patch of blue flowers. There’s no sign of how it got there, but it doesn’t really matter; free healing is free healing. 

They crouch to scoop it up, intending to store it away immediately, and then pause. Weighing it in their hands, they twist to look over their shoulder at Guardian without standing up. From the direction of his head, they think he’s looking back at them, but with only the gleam of his eyes visible it’s hard to interpret what he might be thinking. They look down at the health pack again, and it only takes a second to make up their mind. 

Straightening up, they jog over to stand just in front of Guardian, forcing him to stop walking. His head tilts slightly, questioning, but before he can say anything Drifter holds the pack out to him with both hands in a clear offering. 

Guardian makes no move to take it, though, and they frown. “To replace the one you gave me,” they explain aloud, since they don’t have a free hand to type. 

“You don’t owe me anything,” Guardian says carefully. He sounds mildly uncomfortable at the thought, although they’re not sure why.

Drifter rolls their eyes, but manages to avoid a sigh, which they consider quite the achievement. “Of course I do, but this isn’t _payment_. That’d imply I wanted your healing. This -,” they have to pause and cough, but Guardian doesn’t interrupt, just watches them steadily until they’re ready to continue. “This is just courtesy. I have plenty, and you’re down one. Take it.” 

To be completely accurate, they have two, but that’s more than enough to last them a while if they’re not reckless about it. 

After a moment, Guardian nods and accepts the health pack. “Thank you.”

They start to open their mouth, think better of it, and type, “ _It’s really no trouble. I’m sure we’ll find more._ ”

“I hope so,” Guardian says, stepping around them so he can continue walking. “I have a feeling we’ll need them sooner rather than later.”

It’s not long before the walkway opens into a wide platform, ringed with trees growing partially submerged in the surrounding water. In the center of the platform is a huge stone pillar, worn and mossy but no less attention-grabbing for it. 

A skeleton leans against its base like an afterthought, lightly tangled in the greenery that grows up through the cracks in the pale stone of the platform. Drifter covers the distance between themself and the pillar with a few dashes and kneels down to examine the skeleton curiously. 

It’s obviously old, unlike most of the bodies they’ve seen around here; in fact, Drifter doesn’t think it’s even an otter, although their anatomical knowledge is limited enough that it’s hard to say for sure. But the clothes, even ragged and decayed as they are, look different than what Drifter has seen on the other corpses they’ve passed. It’s not a drifter’s cloak and armor, either. If anything, Drifter thinks it may have been a soldier once. 

There’s no sign of a weapon, though, nor anything else useful; either this was the poorest soldier in existence, or someone has gone over the body already. With a small sigh of disappointment, Drifter pushes themself to their feet. Their head spins with the movement, spotting their vision with black, but they firmly ignore it. They know what passing out feels like and this isn’t that; this is an annoyance at best. 

As the spots clear from their eyes, they find Guardian standing a short distance away, looking down at the skeleton. He doesn’t say anything about it, opting instead to gesture off to the side with one hand. “The elevator is just over there. Follow me, and keep an eye out. I haven’t been in this part of the tunnels yet, so I can’t be sure what we’re walking into.”

Drifter keeps one hand on their gun as the elevator descends, ready to deal with anything that might decide to surprise them, but there’s nothing immediately waiting for them when they reach the bottom. 

The elevator comes to a halt at the top of a short flight of stairs, on a platform cluttered with variously-sized jars of pink fire. Several of the jars are partially blocking Drifter’s view of the rest of the room, but they can make out some kind of inert machinery surrounded by a pool of water, unevenly lit by cold electric lights. 

This far under the lake, the air is significantly cooler and less muggy. It still smells extremely damp, though, in that sharp stone way they would normally associate with caves. 

There’s only one direction to go, so Drifter darts down the stairs with quick, light steps. Behind them, Guardian hisses out a warning, but they’re not concerned; what they can see of the room looks mostly empty, occupied only by some plants pushing up through cracks in the stone floor.

Only one dirk soldier is waiting for them, wielding a small gun not unlike the one Drifter pulls from under their cloak. It raises the weapon when it sees them, but Drifter is quicker. 

They shoot once, dash out of the way of the return shot, and fire again. The dirk drops to the ground with a cut-off grunt, and they let out a satisfied hum as they return their gun to its holster. 

“Behind you!” Guardian calls, and Drifter spins in time to catch what they’d assumed was a normal bush dragging itself out of the ground to reveal several writhing tentacles and a mouth full of needle teeth. 

They jump back out of the way as it leaps towards them, then manage to catch it with their sword on its next leap. The hard-light blade cuts through it as easily as it would an ordinary plant, severing several tentacles and slicing deep into its body. 

Leaking some kind of green ooze, it drops to the floor in a heap - and begins to pulse. 

“Back up,” Guardian warns, but they’re already moving, backpedaling toward the stairs as they remember his stories of exploding plant monsters. 

Just as they reach the bottom of the stairs, the plant monster explodes in a small plume of fire and smoke, leaving a black scorch mark behind on ground where it had lain. 

It’s a bigger explosion than they would expect from such a small creature, and they blink at it in surprise. “ _You weren’t kidding._ ”

“Did you think I was?” he asks, and Drifter shrugs. “Anyway, keep an eye out; they usually live in groups.”

The two of them make their way across the room, Drifter poking their sword suspiciously at every patch of foliage they pass. They uncover a few more plant creatures in the process, but now that they know to expect it, they’re able to dispatch them and move out of the way afterward without issue. 

The plant creatures become more densely clustered a little ways into the wide hallway that branches off the first room, and Guardian manages to take out several in one go by using his sword to flip a dead creature into a patch of plants just before it explodes. Drifter gives the resulting soot mark an impressed look; the chain of explosions that had been set off seems improbably large for such little creatures, and they wonder if it’s natural or yet another genetic experiment left over from the war. If they are an experiment, they’re a surprisingly safe one; the explosion looks painful, but it’s not exactly difficult to avoid.

Drifter knows getting complacent is a mistake, but they can’t help it. One dirk and a few plant creatures are hardly as dangerous as Guardian made this sound; maybe this part of the tunnels didn’t have the same inhabitants as the areas he’d visited, or maybe they’re just further in. Either way, this next room looks reasonably safe, and Drifter strides forward quickly, keeping half an eye out for more of the little plant monsters but mostly interested in anything that might be stored in the room.

Guardian starts to say something - a warning to slow down by the sound of it - but he’s cut off by the loud hum of something materializing behind them. When Drifter spins around, they find a wall that definitely wasn’t there before. Standing just in front of it is Guardian, surveying the room they’re now locked in with his gun in one hand. 

“Security measure?” Drifter guesses, drawing their own gun and turning back to face the room as well. 

“Most likely,” Guardian confirms. “Which means - watch out!”

It’s an entirely unnecessary warning, because Drifter is quite capable of figuring out for themself that the enormous plant creature that just dragged itself out of the ground is bad news, thank you, but they appreciate the sentiment anyway. 

They barely have a second to take in its lack of eyes and the fang-filled mouth that splits its head almost completely in half before that mouth opens as it charges toward them and _oh,_ this thing is much faster than it looks. Drifter dashes out of the way just in time, too startled by its speed to even try and attack it as it passes. 

What had Guardian said about these? Stay out of the way and wear them down? Easier said than done when they can cross the room almost as quickly as a laser blast. 

Drifter dodges away from another charge, a little more smoothly now that they’re expecting it. From somewhere nearby they hear Guardian fire his gun, two blasts in quick succession followed by the snarl of a charging plant monster, because of _course_ there are two of them.

They’re too busy trying to stay ahead of the monster that’s attacking them to pay him much mind, though, so they just hope that the lack of pained shouts means he’s okay and focus on figuring out how to time their shots. The creature is terrifyingly fast when it charges but it doesn’t seem to be able to change direction once it’s moving, and it looks like there’s a short window of time when it needs to reorient between attacks where Drifter can hopefully get a few shots in.

Another charge, another dodge, but this time instead of taking the opportunity to put some distance between themself and the creature, Drifter spins around to face it and fires. The resulting singed spot on the creature’s face doesn’t seem to bother it much, but it’s a start; now they just need to keep it up until they can wear the thing down.

Soon enough they manage to fall into a kind of rhythm - dodge, dodge again, fire, dodge. From the glimpses they catch in between dashing and shooting, Guardian doesn’t seem to be doing half bad either, and Drifter feels an excited grin forming. The giant plant creature had been frightening at first, and it’s certainly dangerous, but as long as they focus this isn’t too bad. It’s almost enjoyable, actually; Drifter has always preferred riskier fights. 

They fire another shot and are getting ready to move again when something like a speeding train with teeth slams into them, sending them flying. What little breath they had left after the first impact is knocked out of them when they hit the ground with a thump that nearly jars their gun out of their hand, and they roll a few times before landing in a dazed heap against a wall.

 _Move,_ they urge themself, but their brain feels like it’s been shaken loose in their skull and they can barely get their bearings straight, let alone stand up. The few seconds it takes for the room to stop spinning and for their sore muscles to cooperate in getting to their feet seem far too long when they’re expecting to feel more of those needle teeth in their skin at any second. 

But when they look up, instead of a charging plant creature they find Guardian, dashing into view to slice at the creature closest to Drifter with his sword. The hard light blade cuts deeply into the spot where its head meets its body and leaves behind an oozing gash. It’s enough to distract the creature, and when Guardian moves again it charges after him with a snarl, leaving Drifter a moment to catch up with what’s happening.

Another plant creature had appeared without them noticing - they’re guessing that’s what hit them - so now there are three of them crowded into what’s starting to feel like a very small space. Luckily, one of them appears to be on its last leg. Last vine? Last root? Whatever it’s standing on, the creature doesn’t look good; it’s listing to one side as it moves and can’t seem to put as much power behind its charges as the other two. That’s the one Drifter targets, hoping to get it out of the way quickly before helping Guardian deal with the others. 

A quick glance at their gun shows that it’s nearly out of shots; Drifter uses the last one to get the injured plant creature’s attention, then tucks the gun away to start recharging while they dodge away from the creature’s charge. They’re more cautious this time, with their body still aching from the impact and their long-range weapon temporarily disabled. But they don’t exactly have all the time in the world, so after the next charge they pull out their sword and press close to the creature instead of backing away. When they swing, the sword cuts deep into its flesh, and instead of shaking this attack off like the others it slumps to the ground.

Drifter backs away quickly in case these creatures explode like their smaller counterparts, but it just lies there in a spreading pool of its own blood. Once they’re certain it’s not going to do anything else, they dismiss it and turn their attention to Guardian. He’s doing an impressive job keeping the remaining plant monsters distracted, and from where Drifter stands it doesn’t look like he’s taken any serious hits. They let out a relieved breath at the sight; he may be a skilled fighter, but these plant creatures are nothing to trifle with either.

Their gun is still recharging, so for lack of a better way to get the creatures’ attention they shift their grip on their sword so they can clap their hands together loudly. Luckily, it seems like the plant creatures have ears, and the sound gets their attention. 

Unfortunately, that means Drifter now has two angry plant monsters charging at them. They dive out of the way, but the angle of the monsters’ attack forces them back toward a corner of the room that’s partly blocked in by more of the large jars of pink fire. It’s an uncomfortably small space for a fight against such large enemies. Boxed in like this, Drifter might be able to dodge one attack, but they won’t be able to avoid both of the monsters if they charge together again. 

Drifter narrows their eyes, gaze flicking from one plant creature to the other. Then, not giving themself time to second guess their choice, they move, raising their sword and dashing towards one of the creatures before it has a chance to charge again. Their blade cuts into its face, opening a wide wound that reveals several of its narrow, razor-sharp teeth. It opens its mouth to roar at them in response, but instead of dashing away, Drifter steps in closer, putting them in range to jam their sword into its mouth and _push_ until the blade hits something soft that sends blood gushing down over their arm. 

The creature goes limp, almost taking Drifter’s sword with it as it collapses. They narrowly manage to pull it out before they hear another roar, and then something heavy slams into them for the second time that day.

It’s not the speeding-train force of one of the plant creatures charging at them, though, just the ordinary weight of a larger person shoving them when they weren’t braced for it. The hit is still enough to knock them down, but this time they’re able to move with the momentum and roll back to their feet with barely a pause. 

A few feet away, they see Guardian pushing himself off the ground as well; he must have gotten hit by the creature’s charge when he pushed them out of the way. Behind him, the remaining plant creature is lumbering around in preparation for another attack. 

Another flicker of movement on the other side of the room catches Drifter’s eye, and they can’t help the exasperated noise they make when they turn their head to find a _fourth_ creature dragging itself out of the ground. Just how many of these things _are_ there? Did they walk into a nest, or something?

It doesn’t matter right now; they just need to deal with these creatures before either of them gets seriously injured. A quick glance shows them that Guardian is moving more stiffly than he was before he got hit, but based on the speed with which he dodges the next charge he’s still got his creature handled well enough, so Drifter leaves him to it and focuses on the one that just crawled out of the ground. 

Their gun hums in their grip when they draw it, fully charged and ready to use. They fire two shots, one after another, then take off in a dash before the plant creature can retaliate, tracing a semicircle around the room to avoid its charge without getting in Guardian’s way. The benefit of fighting such a large target is that Drifter hardly has to aim to hit something important, allowing them to keep most of their focus on staying out of range whenever the creature charges. 

They try to fall back into the same half-dancing rhythm from earlier, but it’s hard to summon up the right enthusiasm. So much sprinting around is starting to take its toll - they’re breathing hard, each inhale scraping against their already sore throat, and even with the adrenaline fueled numbness they can feel the ache of what will most likely become some truly impressive bruises along their ribs and shoulders. 

_Don’t focus on that_. All they need to think about is the next step, one movement at a time. Watch for the next charge, avoid it, shoot. Repeat. 

They’re so caught up in the moment that it almost startles them when one last shot brings the creature to a halt just before it can charge again, especially since it hadn’t been their gun that fired. Drifter blinks at the plant creature’s unmoving form for a moment, then turns their head to see Guardian lowering his gun, although he doesn’t put it away yet.

“Are you alright?” 

Entirely not in the mood to form words, Drifter nods. They’re pretty sure nothing is broken, at least, for all that their companion bot is carrying on like they’re going to keel over any second. Their ribs are definitely bruised and one of their wrists is starting to ache in a way that suggests it might be sprained from landing on it, but it’s nothing that a health pack won’t fix. 

They’re moving to grab one of their health packs when they see the ground move again, and abandon that mission in favor of drawing their gun. 

“Another one!” they warn as loudly as they can. At this point, that’s not very loud, but it gets Guardian’s attention, and he raises his gun to fire at the creature with a surprisingly tame curse. 

Drifter would laugh at him for that, if they weren’t busy watching the creature and waiting for it to charge. Which it does without hesitation, opening its jaws wide and barreling toward Guardian with a now-familiar roar. He dodges out of the way, and Drifter takes the opportunity to fire off as many shots as they can. 

They manage three before their gun clicks, once again out of charge, and they tuck it away under their cloak. The creature doesn’t look happy at all; it shakes itself as if trying to remove the scorch marks from its skin, roars, and charges at Drifter. Their dodge this time is less of a dance and more of a controlled scramble, but they manage to avoid getting hit or falling on their face in the process, so they’ll call it a win. 

Guardian follows behind the creature, sword flashing, and closes the distance between them with two quick dashes. He leaves behind a deep cut along the creature’s side, causing it to lurch to one side as it tries to set up for another charge, then dashes away again before it can retaliate. 

With both Drifter and Guardian able to focus on the same creature, the fight goes by much more quickly than the last one. They trade off, one attacking the creature in quick bursts whenever it’s focused on the other, and before too long the creature lets out an unhappy and slumps to the ground, unmoving.

Both drifters maintain their ready stances for a moment longer, watching carefully for any sign of more creatures. Nothing else surfaces, and after a few seconds, the barriers containing them in the room dematerialize with a hum.

Drifter decides to take that as a sign that the fight is over, and drops down where they stand to sit on the floor. One of their hands lands in something sticky - plant blood, they think, and it’s definitely going to soak into their clothes as well if they stay here - but all the gearbits in the world couldn’t convince them to care about that right now. 

They flop over onto their back with a thump, letting out a pained hiss as the impact jostles their ribs but unwilling to put in the effort to move into a more comfortable position.

Somewhere to their right, Guardian makes a concerned sound. “Drifter!”

They don’t look at him as they raise one hand and wave it placatingly in his general direction. Apparently, this isn’t very convincing, and they hear a few rapid steps before he drops down to kneel next to them.

“How badly are you hurt?” he asks. 

Drifter bats away his hands when he tries to prod at them. “I’m _not_. Leave off.” 

“ _Drifter._ ” Guardian draws his hands back but doesn’t move away, and gestures at where Drifter’s bot hovers next to their stomach, flashing its medical alert symbol insistently. “Are you sure about that?”

This time, though, Drifter has some ammunition of their own - their bot isn’t the only one beeping. “Talk to me when yours calms down.”

They can practically feel Guardian’s unimpressed look, even without being able to see it. He does, however, pull out a health pack, and Drifter grins smugly when they see the glow of it spread out from his chest before sinking into various injuries. 

“Your turn now,” Guardian says, and Drifter shakes their head.

“In a minute. I‘m busy being dead.” 

Guardian does a very bad job of muffling his sigh at that, but doesn’t push further. Instead he shifts off his knees into a more comfortable sitting position and calls over his bot, pulling up a screen that Drifter can’t make out from this angle. They don’t make any attempt to get a better look, just watch the light from the screen play over his cloak with half-closed eyes and focus on tuning out the beeping of their own bot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fight annoys me to no end whenever I play. I don't think I've ever managed to get through it without dying at least twice, and that includes when I ran through it several times while writing this to make sure I had the order of events mostly correct.

**Author's Note:**

> This was not meant to get as long as it did, but when life hands you incredibly long-winded lemons, you make longfic lemonade I guess. I do intend to continue this, but I'll be starting my spring semester soon so I can't promise a consistent updating schedule. That being said, please feel free to poke me if I end up taking forever!


End file.
